


The Night It All Came Crashing Down

by chibi_nightowl



Series: Therapy Sessions [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Drinking & Talking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, References to Nightwing #93, Survivor Guilt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 19:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10669647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: After a difficult night on patrol, memories Dick would much rather forget come to the surface. Thankfully, Jason's there to catch him before he falls.*****“All this has a point, I promise.”Jason looks slightly affronted at the words. “Dickie, even if it didn’t, you couldn’t pry my ass from this chair with a crowbar.”





	The Night It All Came Crashing Down

**Author's Note:**

> The series is called Therapy Sessions for a reason. If what happened to Dick in Nightwing #93 is not your cup of tea, stop now as it does get discussed, albeit in non-graphic terms.
> 
> Special thanks to the TWO wonderful betas I used for this fic: GoAwayOlivia and Embleer_Frith0323. I couldn't have posted this without either of you! <3

As he leaves the warehouse, Dick thinks he’s done a pretty good job of hiding just how affected he was by the events of the last couple hours. Breaking up a sex-trafficking ring and rescuing the victims gives him a sense of accomplishment that he doesn’t feel most nights on patrol. But it also brings back memories he’d much rather forget. 

Tonight is worse than usual and by the time Dick stumbles into his apartment, he’s barely able to make it to the bathroom before he’s violently retching into the toilet. Most of the time, this type of thing was run by men. But this particular ring was run by a woman. A woman who had no problem with sampling her _young_ merchandise based on what Dick had seen when he’d snuck in on reconnaissance. He’d acted before he even thought things through and, although the ensuing fight could have been prevented if he hadn’t, Bruce, in a rare display of empathy, didn’t say a word about it. 

Dick vomits again as a second wave of nausea roils through his stomach. At this point, he’s dry heaving, having gotten almost everything out the first time. The smell is sickening and he fumbles for the handle a moment before he’s able to flush it down. He waits, resting his sweat-dampened face against the cool porcelain of his bathtub, and takes a few deep and calming breaths. 

It goes to show just how far he’s out of it that he doesn’t even notice when Jason walks in and crouches in front of him. “You all right there, big bird?” 

He startles violently and opens eyes he didn’t know were shut. “Wha? Jay?” Dick rasps out. His throat feels raw. The jerky movement doesn’t help matters though and Dick lurches again to the toilet. It hurts worse now that there’s nothing to come back up.

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound good.” Dick hears the sound of water running from his sink and a moment later, a cool washcloth is laid on the back of his neck. The toilet flushes and Dick watches the bile disappear. 

Swallowing carefully, Dick reaches up and grabs the rag to wipe at his mouth. “Thanks, Jay,” he says weakly. 

“Yeah, well. I just hope that’s from the shit that went down tonight and not a bug you picked up somewhere.” Jason sounds defensive, which is par for the course when someone thanks him for doing something nice (Tim seems to be the only one exempt from this behavior). 

“It is,” Dick replies quietly. “It…brought back some bad memories.” The nausea has finally passed and he unfolds his body from in front of the toilet to stand, albeit unsteadily. 

“We seem to have plenty of those between us.” Jason leans against the counter and crosses his arms loosely across his broad chest. “Or are these the type that require a bottle to get out in the open? Cuz I brought one. Some of the shit tonight hit a bit close to home.” 

Dick peels off his mask and pulls off his gloves, dropping both to the floor. He gives Jason a wary look. “Then why are you here and not with Tim? Or is he in the living room waiting?” He turns on the water at the sink and ducks his head down, taking a sip directly from the faucet to start rinsing his mouth out. 

Jason waits, but there’s an uncomfortable look on his face when Dick focuses on him again. “He’s at the Manor. I…I’m not ready to talk about it with him. Not yet. I was watching you tonight and…something clicked. It’s like you _knew_ what had happened to these guys. Like you’d been there before.” 

Dick’s hands tighten on the edge of the counter and he shoots a sharp look at his little brother. Sometimes (a lot of the time), it’s easy to forget Jason was trained by the World’s Greatest Detective too. “I didn’t know you were there earlier.” 

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know, Dickie.” Jason shifts and frowns before he continues. “Am I right?” he asks. 

Heaving a great sigh, Dick nods. His thoughts are all over the place, but he recognizes the opportunity he’s being given here, even though chances are likely Jason’s story is just as bad or worse than his. A lot of Jason’s stories are like that, which makes his gut clench tightly again. 

“Let me shower and get cleaned up first. There is no way I’m talking about it with this on.” He gestures to his uniform. 

Jason’s eyes widen in surprise as he realizes what Dick really means. “Right,” he almost stutters. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

*****

Twenty minutes pass before Dick walks into his living room. It’s quiet and for a moment he thinks Jason left, before he spots the man in his kitchen. His small dining table has been cleared off and sitting right in the middle is a narrow brown paper bag with the neck of a glass bottle rising out of it. Two shot glasses are arranged on either side of it, though Dick is glad to see there’s a glass of ginger ale waiting for him. 

Bubbles, yes. Booze, no. At least, not yet. 

Jason looks up from his seat at the table and sets down his phone. “I ordered some Chinese. Thought some fried rice might go down easy. You’ve got shit in your fridge.” 

“I rarely cook, so that’s normal.” Dick sits down and sips at the soda. For all the crap he gets about his sugary cereals, he doesn’t drink a lot of the stuff. The only reason he even has the ginger ale he’s sipping at is because he bought it last month when he had a cold. 

“How you’ve managed to survive this long…” Jason teases and shakes his head. 

“So Alfred says every time he comes over here. At this point though, he really should just make a disappointed face like Bruce does and move on.” 

“Gotta admit…it’s odd thinking of you without the filter of the Golden Boy on.” Jason shakes his head and reaches for the bottle sitting between them. He doesn’t even take it out of the bag, rather he just takes out his pocketknife and flicks it open to crack the seal on the bottle. 

Dick leans back in the chair, legs stretched out in front of him, and watches his brother. He’s comfortable for the moment, dressed as he is in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Jason is too for that matter, looking like he at least ditched the body armor he habitually wears beneath his leather jacket and jeans. 

It still amazes him, even after all this time, that his little brother is _alive_. But they’d already talked about that. They were gearing up to talk about something else tonight. Something he’d never told anyone (Dick can only chalk it up to feverish ramblings after the gang war that Alfred or Bruce overheard while he wasn’t lucid for them knowing). 

“I’m glad you’re not,” Dick says. “I’m not perfect. I screw up too.” 

Jason pours a shot of some amber liquid into his shot glass. “I know,” he says quietly and swirls the liquid around in the glass for a moment before taking a sip. “Shame you’ve got a touchy tummy tonight. I bought bourbon.” 

The whiskey has always been a favorite of Dick’s, though not a lot of people knew it, thinking he preferred the sweeter alcohols and mixes. “Let’s see how I do with some food first. I’m pretty sure I’m going to need at least one shot of that before I can get started.” 

The food arrives and Dick carefully picks at his fried rice while Jason goes to town on his lo-mein noodles and orange beef. Nothing seems to want to come back up and reintroduce itself to his tastebuds, so Dick gets adventurous and reaches over for a piece of Jason’s beef. He likes everything on the menu from this place, but the orange beef is a favorite. 

Jason gives him a look but doesn’t say anything. 

Dick soon has enough food that he’s willing to eat for the moment and Jason finishes up as well. Leftovers are moved to the fridge and once again it’s just the bottle of bourbon, two shot glasses, and Dick’s ginger ale gracing the tabletop. 

As much as he wants to delay telling his story, Dick knows the chances of getting it out are slim if he has to listen to Jason’s tale first. And from the look on the other man’s face, he knows it too. Jason reaches out and pours a shot of bourbon into each of the glasses, pushing one of them towards Dick. 

It’s the closest Jason will say to _get on with it_. In this moment, Dick realizes Jason will sit there all night waiting for him to find the right words if that’s what it takes. The gesture heartens him and he picks up the glass and takes a sip. The whiskey burns on his tongue, but it’s a _good_ burn, and he tips the rest of it back, swallowing quickly. 

He sets the glass in front of him and reaches for the bottle himself to pour a second one. This one, he savors before putting the empty glass down. 

No more hesitation. It’s time to make that jump and trust Jason will be there on the other side to catch him. 

“I know you heard about what happened at Haly’s Circus awhile back, but I’m not sure if you know the full story of what really happened that night…” Dick starts slowly. He tells Jason about the mad dash he made upstate at the request of the circus manager. He talks about the suicide that neither he nor the man’s partner believed was actually a suicide. He talks about flying through the air and seeing everything come crashing down around him as his beloved home went up in flames. 

“I couldn’t save everybody,” he chokes, eyes watering like they’d been that night from the smoke and ash. Dick can just _smell_ the canvas of the tent burning around him, the heat of the flames licking at his skin. “Hell, Zitka had to save _me_. It was Firefly’s work. I saw him. And there was nothing I could do about it. Seeing him there should have been my first clue, but I was too torn up to recognize it, though I did wonder _why_ he’d target a circus of all things.” 

Dick pours a third shot of whiskey and drinks it before he continues. “When I got back to Gotham, I stayed at Babs’ for the rest of that night. We’d broken up again by that time but I still went to her for comfort. And she did comfort me, but she also reminded me I needed to stop living in the past and look at what’s in front of me right now. I screwed up big time when it came to her, I know it, but that was another blow I just didn’t need at the time. I got home in the early morning. Was back just long enough to change into my uniform and head out again. I didn’t care that it was daylight, I had work to do.” 

He pauses and takes a deep breath. This part was going to be almost as hard as what’s still coming. “I had barely made it to the next building over when my entire apartment building was blown to pieces.” 

Jason audibly gasps at this. “Holy shit…Oh my God, Dick. I didn’t know…” He sounds horrified and swallows before asking, “How many…?” 

“Thirty five people. Everyone except for myself and Amygdala. Can you believe he was living there? He’s actually a really nice guy when he’s got the right meds in his system.” Dick sighs and rubs at his eyes. The memory of his home, his _friends_ , going up in flames and crumbling around him is just as fresh in his mind as if it had happened yesterday. The scent of smoke surrounds him and the crackle of flames echo in his ears. The roar Amygdala let out when he burst out of the rubble, in pain and confused about what just happened. 

His entire world was gone. 

“It was around then that it finally clicked that someone was targeting me. Not Nightwing, but _me_. Hitting me right where it hurt the most. Bruce came to Bludhaven that night and I warned him, not that it really made much of a difference. He can protect himself, as can Alfred when push comes to shove. He’d already fired Stephanie from being Robin and Tim hadn’t taken the mantle back up yet, so in my mind, they were safe enough. He wanted me to come back to Gotham, but I couldn’t. I had to find who was behind this.” 

Dick pauses and takes a sip from his ginger ale this time. He gives Jason a tired, but wry glance. “All this has a point, I promise.” 

Jason looks slightly affronted at the words. “Dickie, even if it didn’t, you couldn’t pry my ass from this chair with a crowbar.” 

“Not funny, Jay.” 

“I can make a joke of it if I want to. It happened to me,” Jason says forcefully. “And some night here, I’ll tell the full story. Gonna need to be fucking hammered though.” 

Dick doesn’t reply and takes another sip of his soda. It’s a story he wants to hear, but at the same time, he doesn’t. He killed the Joker once, thinking he’d taken another brother from him, but Bruce saved him. _HIM_. Dick’s still not sure if he’d done the right thing. It’s something that still tears him apart. 

Another night. 

Setting down his drink, he starts talking about the memorial service for everyone in the building, about how he’d worn a long trench coat he’d stolen over his Nightwing uniform because he was homeless at the time and didn’t have anything else. No job, no home, no nothing. All he had was the drive to find out who had taken everything away from him. 

It didn’t take long to trace everything back to Blockbuster. 

“To be honest, those couple of days leading up to his death are a bit of a blur. That night, Amy told me that a reporter had made the connection between Nightwing and Dick Grayson. She tried giving me back my badge and my gun, reminding me that I had more options as a police officer than I did as a vigilante, that I _could_ use lethal force if necessary was very implied.” 

Dick stops and takes a moment to gather his thoughts. He’s reached the hardest part. 

Unasked for, Jason pours him another shot of bourbon and hands it to him. He stares at it blankly for a moment and tosses it back. 

“I went to confront the reporter. I learned she’d just made the connection a few hours before. She also told me that it seemed like Roland had made the same realization long before she had. He killed her right in front of me. A shot right to the head…” 

Dick goes on autopilot as he tells about his fight with Blockbuster. How the monster knew _exactly_ where and how to hurt him the most. That by knowing his identity, he implied that he knew the greatest secret of them all. 

“He wasn’t going to stop,” Dick says brokenly. “He was never going to stop. My friends, what was left of my family, even random strangers I would meet on the street…everyone was a potential target. Because he knew I’d sacrifice myself to protect them all. Even when Catalina appeared, ready to fire that shot as soon as I moved out of the way, he was positive I wouldn’t move. That I’d stay right there and take that shot for _him_ rather than let him die.” 

Roland’s last words still haunt him. “ _I’m never going to stop._ ” 

“He was never going to stop. And I…I let her do it. I let go and walked away.” Dick can feel the tears running down his face but makes no attempt to stop them. “He’d taken _everything_ away from me because he believed I purposefully didn’t save his mother. I didn’t even know she was _there_ that day. And in return, I took his life. I didn’t pull the trigger, but I may as well have.” 

Swallowing, he looks over at Jason. He’s sitting stiffly, lips compressed in a firm line as he struggles to keep his mouth shut. Dick knows that look. Jason wants to argue with him, very likely about what he’d just said, that it wasn’t his fault, that he did the right thing. 

But Dick’s not Jason. His little brother is one of the most compassionate people he knows. It’s what allows him to empathize with the people he saves, but it’s also what allows him to pull that trigger. Dick suddenly understands something else about his brother, something he’d never consciously recognized. Jason is also a victim. And because of that, he _gets_ where other victims are coming from. This is why he fights. He does it for the people who can’t. 

Dick takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “All I saw was his blood on my hands. I somehow made it to the roof of the hotel. It was raining and I know it was washing my gloves clean, but all I saw was his blood. And then Catalina was there and she told me to focus on her. That she’d take care of me. I didn’t want her to; I was supposed to take care of _her_. I’d failed her too by letting her pull that trigger. But I couldn’t stop her…I was so tired, so completely and utterly _exhausted_ that I couldn’t fight her if I wanted to. She pushed me onto my back and pulled down the bottom of my uniform…I…I’m sure she thought she was doing a good thing, trying to get me to focus on something else, on her…but…” 

He chokes on the words as the memory washes over him, just as powerful and _painful_ as when Catalina killed Blockbuster. Of her grinding on top of him, trying to force an erection that came despite his head being completely elsewhere. He’d felt almost completely disassociated from the physical act itself. She’d only gotten up to take off her pants before rubbing up against him again and slowly taking him into her body. 

An act that he’d performed only with people he _cared_ about had now become tarnished by having someone else take it for herself. 

Dick suddenly realizes he’s curled up into a tight ball in his chair, legs pulled up snug against his chest with his arms wrapped around them. His hands _ache_ from how tightly he’s clasping them together. Through the fringe of his bangs, he sees Jason on the edge of his seat, uncertain as to what he should do. 

He takes a deep breath and _reaches out_. 

From across the table, Jason leans over and takes his hand, but he slides over it and grabs his wrist instead in a hold Dick himself had taught him when he’d first taken Jason up into the rigging and taught him to _fly_. His grip is warm and solid and feels _unbreakable_. It steadies him, more than he thought it would and gives him the courage to continue. 

“At the time, I thought what happened to me was no more than I deserved for letting Roland die. After the gang war here in Gotham, I got my head on straight enough to try and turn myself in for his murder, along with Catalina. But while the BPD gladly arrested her, I was let off. I know it was Amy pulling strings, that she wasn’t going to let me sacrifice myself like that. It took a long time for me to come to terms with the fact that what Catalina did was _not_ something I deserved for the decisions I made that night. That she took it for herself because she wanted to and because she knew I wouldn’t fight her.” Dick squeezes Jason’s wrist and meets his eyes. “I know I’m just as capable as Bruce at carrying around a guilt complex…but this. _This_ was not my fault.” 

Jason shakes his head in agreement. “No, it is _not_ your fault,” he replies fiercely. There’s a fire burning in his teal eyes, a fire that makes them look almost green in the florescent lighting of the kitchen. “It was _never_ your fault. We may have to agree to disagree about that bitch killing Blockbuster, but what she did to you…” His breath catches as words escape him but he tightens his grip on Dick’s wrist. 

He takes a few deep breaths before asking a question Dick knew was bound to come. “Where is she now?” 

Even as stressed out and emotionally drained as he is right now, Dick can see what Jason’s really asking. _Where is she now so that I can kill or otherwise make her life a miserable living hell for what she did to you._

“She’s dead,” he says more harshly than he intended. “She was in Bludhaven when Chemo dropped and destroyed the city.” 

That’s a whole other set of traumas for him, ones that he is _not_ going into tonight. 

Jason takes the hint, but doesn’t let go of Dick’s wrist. “Good. Not gonna lie, Dickie, if you’d told me she was alive, I’d probably be tranqing you right about now and heading out to go find her.” 

“I know. But you have to know that if you did, I’d be coming right after you when I woke up.” 

The other man nods. “Because you have to protect everybody. Even those that don’t deserve it.” It could be an accusation but Dick knows it’s simply a statement of fact. 

“I have to. I can’t do it any other way.” 

“You’re a moron, I hope you know that.” Jason shakes his head again, this time in dark amusement if the slight twist to his lips is any indication. 

“So I’ve been told many times.” Dick gives Jason’s wrist a quick double squeeze, the signal to let go. He does, but he pulls his hand back reluctantly as he takes his seat again. 

Dick untangles himself and drinks the rest of his soda. His throat is parched. He’s tired and all he wants is to go to bed, but Jason hasn’t told his story yet. 

He reaches for the bottle and gives it a swirl to see where they are with it before pouring them both another shot. Picking up his glass, Dick smiles weakly at Jason. “So…I told you mine, you ready to tell yours?” 

Jason looks startled, like he’d completely forgotten why he’d come over in the first place. “I think we’ve had enough trauma tonight,” he says. “Mine can wait.” 

Dick narrows his eyes at his brother. “Little wing,” he tries, but Jason cuts him off. 

“No. Not tonight, Dick. I will tell you, but not tonight. Right now, I’m tired as fuck and just want to go to bed. Can I crash here?” 

He lets it go, knowing it’s for the best rather than pushing. “Yeah. Do you think Tim would be mad if I asked you to sleep with me tonight? I don’t really want to sleep alone right now.” It’s a risk asking, but a calculated one. 

And Dick really doesn’t want to fall asleep by himself. With someone else there, someone he _trusts_ , chances are likely he’ll avoid the nightmares he knows are lurking in the depths of his mind. 

Jason dramatically rolls his eyes and gives him a put upon look, but he nods. Like he’d turn down Dick after a tale like this. “Yeah, fine. Whatever. Just remember I need to actually breathe when you’re squeezing the life out of me.” 

“Thanks, little wing. And…thanks for listening to me.” 

“Anytime, Dickie. Anytime.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> For those that are curious, the story Jason was originally going to tell uses the Green Arrow/Batman crossover story written by Judd Winick as it's basis (the one where he kidnapped Mia (the new Speedy) and alluded that they were very much the same based on their shared history). So that's coming too, though I think Tim needs a turn here first before I tackle teenage prostitution.


End file.
